Heal Me
by JustAnotherIndividual
Summary: Sequel to Guardian Angel.  In the darkness, something lurks, but Reid can't figure out if it's Marsha, or if perhaps, he's finally inherited his mother's schizophrenia. Is Marsha back, or has Reid's mind finally cracked?
1. Night Terrors

_Heal Me_

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><p>He swore he could smell it. The burnt skin lingering and the heavy breathing that came after it. Eyes staring at him quietly behind closed doors.<p>

He swore that it was there that night, and even though he checked his closet with bated breath, no one appeared. No one was there.

He quivered and checked the whole house before sitting back down slowly onto the bed.

A door creaked.

His head snapped to the right and swallowed as his skin seemed to tighten across his forehead and chest. His chest crushed his lungs. He couldn't breath.

He stood slowly, legs shaking, and then the door slammed.

He backed up a few steps and fell to the floor with a large bang as his breath became even more labored.

"M-Marsha? Marsha, leave me alone.." He murmured beneath his breath as he pushed himself backwards, further and further towards the closet doors.

His lips quivered as the smell of burning, fried, skin filled his nose and throat, almost suffocating him.

It was her, wasn't it? It had to be. It just had to be her.

He swallowed harshly, almost vibrating inside as another door slammed, this time however, it was closer to his bedroom. He sucked in another breath, eyes scanning the room before slamming his hand on top of the side table and picking up his phone. His fingers attempted pushing buttons, but even the touch screen appeared to be failing him.

Another door slammed.

He gave up on trying to call anyone as cold sweat ran down his neck, instead pushing the texting option and sending a text to everyone on his contacts list, which happened to be the team. That was all.

_'Help.' _Was his simple text as he, lied the phone beside him, hand shakily on the gun, as he watched his own door creak open.

There was some breathing.

It was her.

There was that disgusting smell.

It had to be _her. _

An eye was visible and Reid picked up the gun, "Marsha." He called out plainly as though nothing were wrong.

The eye suddenly glared at him and the door slammed, some scampering came and then one more door slam.

Reid swallowed and let out a small sob, even though he knew nothing good could come of his current fear. Thi crippling fear he now had.

The dark had never been his speciality, not at all. But now when actual threats were popping up in that darkness, his fear became the worst it had ever been.

Another door opened, slamming against his wall and multiple foot-steps came.

Reid let out a small breath, knowing this would be the end of him. Had she gone out and gotten more people to help her kill him off for good now? Perhaps she wanted revenge for setting her on fire.

Wait..that fire.

Wasn't she dead? She was supposed to be. How could she _not _be dead?

"Reid?"

He let out a guttural noise from out of fear and grabbed his gun, eyes wide in crippling anxiety, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers and a black T-shirt. He pointed the weapon at the door as it opened, and finger went instinctively to the trigger as he breathed in and out carefully.

It wasn't Marsha.

It was the team.

He'd forgotten he'd requested for help.

He refused to lower the gun, even when they looked at him with sympathy in their eyes at his position, back to the closet, gun cocked and aimed, fear evident in his glassy eyes.

"Reid, it's us, man. What's the problem, what happened?" Morgan quickly questioned, a determined Garcia coming up behind him, a gun in her own hand. She insisted upon going after the text, though _they _insist that if she just _had _to come, she had to carry a gun.

"Reid?" She whispered, approaching him carefully.

Even in the midst of the night without make-up and her glitzy clothes, she looked fashionable. Her hair was done up in a messy bun and she wore a simple pair of sweats, flip-flops, and a T-shirt.

"..S-Sorry.." He whispered, heart still racing. "M-Marsha. She was here. She's alive. She was in my house. She looked at me through the door.."

Hotch looked at him quizzically.

"Well, it's your own fault. You deserve to die, Reid."

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><p>Reid awoke with a start, heart racing in his chest as he tried to shake off the last memories of the dream. However, that was no easy task when your memory tended to store everything it possibly could like photos that could never be burned.<p>

He swallowed forcefully and let out a breath just as a door down the hall slammed.

His eyes went wide.

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><p><strong>Alright, just a prologue, not too store where this will expand, so perhaps give me a day or two to think this all over and plan further. Once I start though, I'll probably update just as fast with the last story. <strong>

If you didn't get this, please make sure you've read the prequel to this, Guardian Angel. Thanks and please review!


	2. I'm Not Crazy

_I just want to say, thanks for all the awesome reviews! Everyone whose read the first Guardian ANgel, and are reading this one, Heal Me. Thanks so much! This entire story is dedicated to my readers._

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><p><em><strong>Heal Me<strong>  
><em>

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><p><em>Saturday<em>

_8:30AM_

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><p>It was stiff, cold, and uncomfortable within the stuffy room, lined with tacky floral wall-print and overstuffed, antique, chairs. He swallowed dryly and blinked a couple times, looking down at his folded fingers as the woman looked at him for a second more.<p>

"You're mother is a schizophrenic, Spencer. You had to care for her since you were very young. Now, based on this, what is your opinion? Do you think you are dealing with the same mental illness as your mother?"

Reid swallowed once more, pressing his lips together before blinking for a moment more. "..I'm not really sure, anymore." He whispered truthfully, feeling a hot stinging sensation prick him behind his hazel orbs.

The psychiatrist nodded, "Okay. Spencer, what made you come here, _now_. I think it's a wonderful you're visiting a psychiatrist, I think it's only healthy, but why _now? _What made you think you needed me?"

"Well, I never specifically thought of _you._"

"But you did specifically think of a psychiatrist."

Reid blinked a moment once more, ".." Reid was quiet for a full minute before sighing slowly and looking back up at the woman, "..There was a case we had, two months and three weeks ago."

"What significance did it have?"

"..There was this lady..Marsha Bakers..she..I don't really know why she did it, but..she stalked me."

"To what degree?"

"She was hiding in my closet, watching me sleep."

The woman raised her eyebrows before switching from crossing her left leg to the other, "Spencer, that's a very good reason to be having this nightmares. It's normal, especially with your profession and a former stalker. It can cause strong insecurities."

"No, I was having these nightmares before it. And before my job. Before I could even read. I've had nightmares ever since I can remember..but..that's not why I'm here."

"What is it then, Spencer? What's wrong?"

"...Marsha Bakers died. She died of immolation."

"Setting herself on fire?"

"Right. But..last night..last night I could smell her burnt skin..and she was whispering in my closet, and then she left. She slammed the door on her way out. I know she did."

The psychiatrist nodded, "Did you have a nightmare about her prior to this?"

"Yes."

"That can cause some paranoia."

"No, I could..I could almost _taste _her burnt hair and skin. I _knew _she was there, but..it's impossible."

The psychiatrist blinked for a moment this time, looking sadly at the young boy, "Spencer, don't sleep in your house tonight. Sleep some where else. I don't care where it is, just don't sleep in your own apartment tonight."

"She follows me. She follows me, and she knows where I'm at all the time."

"Spencer, she's dead. You have to let it go."

"No, she's not, and I was right. I'm not crazy." Reid replied harshly before standing and grabbing his leather bag.

"Spencer, you need help. You have to stop these hallucinations before they get worse, I recommend you visiting frequently." The psychiatrist replied quickly, standing up in alarm as the agent shook his head.

"That won't be necessary, thanks, Dr. Adams."

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><p><em>Saturday<em>

_3:00PM_

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><p>His fingers lingered over the keys of the piano, his eyes shaded by his ray-ban sunglasses, as he looked dully at the un-touched ivory.<p>

He bit the inside of his cheek momentarily before a hand was lazily put onto his shoulder, "Yeah, well who needs those dumbass doctor's anyway." A soft voice whispered quietly with a sigh.

Reid barely turned his head to look at the face of the man behind him who held a small rolled-up drug. The man smiled slightly and lit it quickly before holding it out for the FBI agent.

"When doctors can't solve the problems, this can." He murmured as Reid hesitantly took it and with quivering fingers, set it to his lips but quickly took it away, shaking his head.

"I don't do drugs, Rico, thanks though." Reid murmured slowly, closing his eyes thoughtfully for a moment before re-opening them."I'm not crazy."

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><p><em>Sunday<em>

_4:00AM_

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><p>Reid awoke to the sound of a door slamming, and he allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment before hearing another door slam again as he picked up the gun beside him, exiting the blankets of his bed and pushing the door open quickly.<p>

Burning skin He could smell it.

"Marsha!" He yelled, no response came of it, but another door slamming was heard. He followed it and just like the las time, he found himself at the entrance.

He opened it, looking down either way of the hall-way, running in one direction, turning his head down to see.

No one.

He ran down the other direction, looking for anyone. No one.

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><p><em> Sunday<em>

_9:00AM_

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><p>Reid stared at the clock on the wall, he hadn't slept since four in the morning, when he begun to hear someone sneaking through his apartment, and though he chased the unknown person, he couldn't find who it was.<p>

He wished he could just find her or him, though he presumed it was a her, just to have some closure. To know he wasn't conjuring this up in his mind because he was becoming a paranoid schizophrenic.

There was only ever a ten percent chance it would passed down to him, but the ten percent seemed to be growing larger and larger, until at one point he thought that maybe the ten percent had gained another zero.

He blinked thoughtfully, already ready for work and his leather bag beside him, but for some reason, he couldn't move. He didn't want to leave his apartment and go to work, which he should have been there for at least an hour ago.

He swallowed, turning his phone off after the third ring from Hotch and second from Morgan.

He didn't want to listen to their worries anymore.

He didn't want everyone to think something was wrong, but he didn't want to even have to talk. His throat was sore and his cheeks were raw from salty tears.

He couldn't take much more. The anxiety consumed him.

"Marsha..Marsha, I know you're here somewhere. I want tell on you if you just come out and show yourself. I just want to know I'm not crazy.." He murmured lowly before his body begun to shake with tremors of fear and loathing, "Marsha!"

His door creaked open slowly, an eye peaked in from the crack. A single, blue glaring, eye.

"Marsha?"

The door slammed.

He jumped and re-opened the door to see _no one_.

Another door slammed.

He didn't go to see if there was anyone there, because now, he supposed, he might be able to face reality.

He grabbed his leather bag, turned on his phone, and when Hotch called this time, he answered.

"I'm sorry, I was having to work some things out with my mom, I'll be there in ten."

And with that, he was off to work, his heart heavy in his chest, yet some hope clung onto it. He was praying, simply _praying, _that at some point, he'd be able to prove he wasn't crazy to himself. Prove he wasn't a schizophrenic to himself.

At some point, that moment would come.

Hopefully.

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><p><strong>Oooh...Review?<strong>


	3. Unwell

_I just want to say, thanks for all the awesome reviews! Everyone whose read the first Guardian ANgel, and are reading this one, Heal Me. Thanks so much! This entire story is dedicated to my readers._

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><p><em><strong>Heal Me<strong>  
><em>

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><p><em>Sunday<em>

_7:25PM_

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><p>They had poked at him with those concerned eyes, but he soon found that he was able to get them to stop through ignoring them and acting as usual, even laughing at a joke here and there. Then rambling off about bacteria statistics.<p>

The profiling didn't actually take very long, and by the end of the day, they had given a profile to the local police, since the murders were actually occurring locally.

Old men were being killed, mostly men having worked at banks, and through intensive profiling for hours on end, they ended up coming up with an almost exact profile of a man.

There was no way they get away at this point.

Reid, when the day was over, hd been invited to go clubbing, and quickly shot down the offer upon remembering the last club he had went into and what had followed. He left without another word and ended up at the graveyard where Marsha Bakers was supposedly buried.

He stood there for a few moments, finding his feet in swishing in the tall blades of emerald grass. The soft breeze tickled his face and he swallowed.

It had come apparent through the day, when his ind drifted from the case, that if perhaps, he _was _crazy, he could cure it through introducing doses of realization. Visiting her gave was about as big of a dose of reality as he could imagine. Looking at the grave however, only made him want to dig the coffin up and search the contents.

He shook his head. That was wrong. All wrong.

He blinked rapidly, turning away for a moment before falling to his knees and putting a hand on the grave stone. Why was this happening?

"Damn it.." He murmured, digging his fingers into the soil of the wet dirt. "...I'm...I...She's..."

He stuttered through pouring tears, and soon after the flowing of tears, rain came pouring down onto his body. Harsh and cold, the rain pounded on his skin.

Reid brought his knees to his chest and allowed the rain to wash over him, taking with it, the tears.

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><p><em>Monday<em>

_1:00AM_

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><p>Reid sat alone in his bed, fear rising in his chest, and he was quickly beginning to question if the psychiatrist had been right. If perhaps, he should sleep somewhere else. Allow his head to clear and then maybe-...No.<p>

He wasn't crazy.

He gripped the sheets of his bed as tears came pouring down his cheeks. He was tired of crying, tied of fearing everything around him.

He grabbed his gun, and aimed it at the closet before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out loudly and he glared coldly at the closet before letting out a couple more shots and continuously shooting the entire length of his closet. He stepped towards the closet and opened it, to see no one. Not even someone injured or dead.

He fled his bedroom, gun pointed outwards as he glared with determination around himself. He searched every nook and cranny of the house.

A door slammed.

He followed the sound, outside into the hall, and finally.

Finally, he saw one single foot pass down the hall, and he chased after it.

Upon turning the corner, however, it was nothing but the elderly, deaf, neighbor, Roslyn.

He lowered his gun and looked with realization fully within his eyes as he retreated back to his apartment. And just as he settled back onto his bed, he heard several doors slam.

This time, however, he did not get up with fright. He simply lied there. Lied there with desperation in his eyes. Desperation for the hallucinations to just stop.

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><p><em>Monday <em>

_8:00AM_

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><p>The unsub had been found, and now as they entered the house, Reid couldn't help but shudder as the darkness of the house seemed to consume him.<p>

He flicked his flashlight on and for a split second, he swore he saw the burnt face. Charred skin, blue eyes, brown hair growing only in patches just before she ran off to somewhere else.

He screamed and backed away, throwing his flashlight onto the ground, fear filled his heart and his soul was weighed down with the realization that his symptoms were only getting worse.

The team looked at him with concern and they flashed their lights around in order to attempt in seeing what he had seen, but whatever it was, was gone.

JJ followed Reid out of the house as the rest of them continued through the stuffy house, full of antique, broken, furniture.

As JJ found Reid, sitting on the curb right outside of the house, head in his hands, JJ slowly sat beside him, hand on his back, and as gunshots rung out, he tensed beneath her palm. She swallowed, trying to get him to confess what was wrong, but he wouldn't say a word, sitting quietly eyes void of emotion.

The unsub was in cuffs the next thing he knew and was being thrown into a car. The team circling the broken agent.

He slowly stood, and walked forward, a hand landing on his shoulder roughly. "Reid, are you gonna tell us what the hell happened, man? What'd you see?"

Reid glared down at his feet, turning back slowly, "I didn't see anything, that's whats wrong.." He whispered softly as he continued down the sidewalk.

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><p><em>Monday <em>

_11:00PM_

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><p>Reid's hands trembled as he picked up the pen on the dining room table, a person hovered behind him and as he turned, he saw the woman.<p>

Skin morbidly disfigured from the fire, hair growing only in patches, but he had come to realize, that she was only a hallucination.

He understood.

He was ill. Severely ill.

And that was what he wrote in the letter.

He closed the letter with a simple, _'Good bye forever..Spencer Reid.' _

He signed his name slowly and looked at the glass doors leading to the balcony.

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><p><strong>This sequel won't actually be very long, I've noticed. It'll probably be about seven or six chapters to be honest, at this length(roughly 1,000 words each chapter.). But I believe you'll really like it, so please review! <strong>


	4. Set Me Free

_LISTEN TO **"MY BODY IS A CAGE"** WHILE READING THIS, BY **PETER GABRIEL!** That song is fantastic to listen to while reading this. _

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><p><em><strong>Heal Me<strong>  
><em>

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><p><em>Monday <em>

_11:10_

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><p>Reid swallowed as he slowly made his way onto the concrete balcony, feeling the breeze through his hair, and the woman was behind him, smiling quietly with a hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Go ahead, Spencer..go ahead.." She whispered quietly, endearingly, as she made her way to the railing.

He looked at the table directly next to the railing, and shakily stepped onto the table, looking out at the blearily lighted city, and as he took into account all of this, he took notice to the large crowd of people walking down the street which his apartment was on, some going home, others going to clubs.

He stepped onto the railing, one foot there, and swallowed and he put the next one onto the railing, reaching his hands up onto the the bottom of the balcony above him.

He let out a small breath and closed his eyes, the wind blowing against him fiercely. He refused to look directly down, however, he did look at the crowd that seemed to slowly stop as they noticed him.

He blinked for a moment as he noticed the crowds wide mouths, and knew someone had probably called the local police, however, among the people watching were his team.

Was he hallucinating this? No. No he wasn't and for some reason, he just _knew _he wasn't. He looked down at their pleading expressions, and blinked once almost as if to say, I'm sorry.

His soul crushed, his heart broke, but somewhere through all this pain, he knew what he wanted. He wanted everything to stop. In suicide, there is no more pain.

He took a breath and they looked up at him in anticipation. They knew they wouldn't get up there in time to stop him if he so choose to jump.

"Reid, no!" JJ screamed, tears streaming down her face.

Reid looked back down emotionless and mouthed the word, _'Sorry..' _before he let one foot hang off the edge.

Everyone sucked their breath in, in anticipation. He swallowed and slowly, let his hands push themselves forward, and with his right foot, he pushed off.

He could feel all those stories fly by him, the wind swishing through his ears, and time seemed to stop. A smile pushed it's way across his face and soon, he felt a cold embrace him. Though not peace.

A sharp jab of agony filled his chest and his eyes opened in success at his plan, and as he tried to breath, he found his nose filling with water. He choked as he struggled to find the surface of what hell he was in. Hand grabbed his wrists, and as the light from the surface died down in his eyes, darkness greeted him happily.

Darkness begun to consume him, but when he looked up, thinking the hallucination would be gone, she was still there. Looking down with a deep hatred. Marsha was still there..looking down at him..

He finally, allowed his eyes to close.

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><p><strong>Very short, yes, but I wanted this to be very suspenseful yet a little confusing. If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask, but I believe most questions will be answered next chapter. However, if you doubt they will, then PLEASE PM me! Answering questions is FINE with me, and I actually enjoy doing so. <strong>

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	5. Maybe Not

_LISTEN TO **"MY BODY IS A CAGE"** WHILE READING THIS, BY **PETER GABRIEL!** That song is fantastic to listen to while reading this. _

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><p><em><strong>Heal Me<strong>  
><em>

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><p><em>Tuesday<em>

_5:43PM_

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><p>His eyes opened slowly.<p>

They were met with darkness, all except the dull illumination coming from the television in the corner. The show, he couldn't make out, and the room, he had no idea what or where it was.

He blinked a few more times trying to swallow the dry feeling in his throat and tried to lean forward to feel an odd attachment on his arm. He looked down to see the glint of metal come off the IV stuck within his arm. He looked around blearily before finally the previous nights actions came into order.

His eyes grew wider in realization and his heartbeat quickened with sudden joy.

The door opened, light flooding in and some whispers could be made out, however, the people who were coming in, he wasn't sureof. Could it have been Marsha?

He closed his eyes quickly and slumped his head to the side slightly as the light flickered on within the room.

"Still not awake.."

"R-Reid..W-Why would you want to.." The words were cut off by a choked sob.

Reid's eyes opened quickly, looking at them with a pained expression, "Garcia, I wasn't trying to kill myself!"

Garcia looked in shock, her heart stopping for a moment as she looked at the awake Reid. Her mouth went dry and she practically ran over to the young agent, her arms wrapping around him quickly.

"Well that's what it looked like.." She whispered, closing her blood-shot eyes.

"No. No, I promise I wasn't..I..I think I should explain.." Reid whispered.

The team, with reluctant faces slowly sat down in seats that were scattered all around the bed.

"Reid, why don't you want until you're better before-" JJ begun quietly, looking at the younger man's disheveled appearance.

"No, I..I think this should really be said now. I owe you an explanation." Reid replied quietly, shaking his head forcefully.

Morgan nodded, "I think that's best too." He replied sharply with his glare fixated on him, "You tried to take your _life, _do you know how _extreme _that is, kid?"

"No, but I _didn't_." He chastised quickly, shaking his head even more forceful. "If I was trying to take my _life _it wouldn't make sense to do it directly over a pool. I would have at least aimed myself into a more shallow place in the pool. Not the seven foot zone."

"So what _were _you trying to accomplish by jumping four stories off your balcony with a suicide letter written out on your table that was more vague than an expiration date?" Garcia replied, pulling herself away with a hopeful look in her eyes.

Reid smiled slightly, "I knew I wasn't going to die." He murmured off-handedly for a moment before clearing his throat, "Okay. I should just start from the beginning. I was seeing Marsha again, she was in my house, but I thought I was crazy. She _had _to be dead. She _had _to be. I visited her grave, went to a psychiatrist, everything but-"

"Oh, Reid..you should have told us." Garcia whispered with pity evident in her eyes.

"No, but I'm _not _crazy."

"Because jumping off a balcony is definitely _not _crazy." Morgan bit back with his eyes cold and unnerving.

Reid's eyes filled with hurt. He had definitely strung a cord.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly in realization as he saw Reid's eyes turn from wide to slits.

"I...Reid, I'm sorry. Look, I just..I thought you _died, _man. When I fished you out of the pool, I thought you were _dead_.."

Reid shook his head, his face considerably less excited now. "I thought I was schizophrenic, and I came up with a plan. By jumping off the balcony, into the pool, I knew people would look up. Marsha finally came out of the closet once I figured I was hallucinating it, and I knew she would follow me like a hallucination, in order to make the act more realistic. What she didn't realize was that I planned my supposed suicide so I wouldn't die. According to the height I was at, and the depth of the pool, it was almost impossible to die. Possible to break a bone or two? Yes. Not die, though. I made sure she was there with me, so that when people looked up they could-"

"See her. I remember some woman there too, now that I think about it. She was kind of hidden in the shadows though.." Prentiss replied, sitting forward.

Reid's face drew up in a smile.

"I told you I wasn't crazy.."

Morgan's face fell and he stood slowly, "Reid, I'm so sorry.." He whispered slowly.

"No, no it's okay." He replied quickly, his heart beat slowing in peace, "But the funny thing is..is that note I left...it actually has a message in it. Kind of a secret code. If you notice, I purposefully misspelled words. If you replace them with the right letters, you get out a message that say's Marsha's still alive.."

Morgan smiled as he put a hand on the younger agent's mouth. "Sorry, Reid. But you have to die."

Reid's eyes trembled beneath the crushing force of the hands. "Morgan, I'm sorry!"

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><p>Morgan carried Reid from the pool, his body limp and trembling as an ambulance quick rounded the corner, bringing out a gurney as fast as the paramedic's possibly could. "Come on, come on!" Morgan screamed in frustration as he quickly lowered the body onto the gurney. "Morgan, I'm sorry.." Reid whispered.<p>

Morgan shook his head, "It's okay, man..It's okay.."

"Is he dead? Morgan, tell me my baby isn't dead!" Garcia's sobs and clicking heels broke the crowds murmuring into a certain eerie silence as they rolled the body of the agent into the ambulance.

Morgan's hands trembled, blood covering his hands from the scrapes acquired on Reid's hands, though he wasn't sure from where. Tears threatened to burst from his eyes and Hotch looked frantically around the scene.

JJ's lips trembled as Prentiss breathed slowly, trying to calm herself, though she felt it may be impossible.

"We should have come sooner.." JJ whispered, shaking her head, "We should have come sooner.."

"Oh my God, he tried to _kill _himself.." Garcia whispered, looking back up on the balcony.

"Or maybe not.." Morgan noticed quickly, the woman standing there silently watching over the scene before dashing into the apartment.

"Get her.." Hotch whispered deathly.

They ran.


End file.
